The Hunger Games: Entropy (A Clato Fanfiction: NTI Series, Book 2)

Chapter 51

Cato remains completely unmoved on his bed—he looks almost the exactly the same way he did the last time I saw him. I’m glad that he’s not going anywhere—yet. I still need him hurt for a little while longer.

“Hey Clove,” he greets me unenthusiastically.

“Really?” I challenge him. “No mood change? Not even going to defend yourself?”

“What’s the point?” he complains, somewhat dispassionately. “I get enough of you every day. There’s no point in trying to avoid something that’s guaranteed to happen in the first place.”

“Look,” I cut him off. “We need to agree on how we’re going to deal with the future.”

“You know what I think we should do?” he barges back in. “I think we need to let off some steam.”

I crease my brow in confusion as he unexpectedly changes the subject of the conversation.

“Come on, Clove,” he continues. “There’s no need to rush this. You’re stressed out and it’s not doing you any good.”

“Jeez, Cato,” I groan in frustration. “Could you at least try to avoid repeating what happened yesterday? You’re still not being very helpful.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he insists cautiously. “I only said what I said because you’re losing your mind. For real.”

Maybe he’s right this time. I haven’t exactly had a chance to calm in a really long time. It’s been at LEAST two weeks since the last time I tossed a knife.

Now that he mentions it, I’m really worn out from everything. Not just the last two weeks, but everything that happened during the last six months, including the Games.

But I’m NOT mentally ill. If he decides to call me a psychopath or a retard for no good reason, I’ll kill him. Period.

“Fine,” I capitulate to his will, albeit somewhat unwillingly. “What do you want?”

“I think there’s only one way to deal with this,” he continues, letting a subtle smile form on his lips. “We need to go out again.”

“Hold on,” I stop him with the intention of correcting at least one of his words. “What do you mean by ‘go out?”

“I mean out on another date,” he chuckles lightly. “A few skin wounds aren’t going to slow me down that much.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I question him apprehensively. “Our last two attempts failed miserably.”

“Who cares?” He challenges me, sitting up and letting his eyes light up with vigor. “Third time’s the charm, right?”

“You can’t expect me to just say ‘yes’ to something more than night-hunting after everything we’ve been through,” I scold him somewhat skeptically, knowing that we don’t have an unlimited number of screw-ups to spare.

“I want to take you shooting,” he adds deliberately, “at the Academy range. I got my license to shoot before the Tour, so…why not?”

“Seriously?” I look at him in surprise, feeling somewhat flattered by his offer. “We’re actually going to do something fun?”

“It’s better than wandering out in the middle of nowhere amongst a bunch of night-hunters, right?” he chuckles light-heartedly.

“You said it, not me,” I finish the joke for him. “Besides, it’s about time we did something different.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like the Clover I used to know,” he grins, sitting up from his supine state on the bed.

Not this again.